. The year's at the spring; an anthology of recent poetry. er things to be. And friends whose loyalty time nor death shallweaken,And quenchless hope and laughters goldenstore ;All that a man might ask thou hast given me,England,Yet grant thou one thing more : 124 THE TEARS • AT • THE • SPRING That now when envious foes would spoil thy splendour, Unversed in arms, a dreamer such as I May in thy ranks be deemed not all unworthy, England, for thee to die. R. E. vern£de 125 THE ? YEARS ? At ? THE ? SPRING Black and White [MET a man along the roadTo Withernsea;Was ever anything so dark, so paleAshe
. The year's at the spring; an anthology of recent poetry. er things to be. And friends whose loyalty time nor death shallweaken,And quenchless hope and laughters goldenstore ;All that a man might ask thou hast given me,England,Yet grant thou one thing more : 124 THE TEARS • AT • THE • SPRING That now when envious foes would spoil thy splendour, Unversed in arms, a dreamer such as I May in thy ranks be deemed not all unworthy, England, for thee to die. R. E. vern£de 125 THE ? YEARS ? At ? THE ? SPRING Black and White [MET a man along the roadTo Withernsea;Was ever anything so dark, so paleAshe?His hat, his clothes, his tie, his bootsWere black as blackCould be,And midst of all was a cold white face,And eyes that looked wearily. The road was bleak and straight and flat To Withernsea,Gaunt poles with shrilling wires their weird Did dree ;On the sky stood out, on the swollen skyThe black blood veins Of treeAfter tree, as they beat from the faceOf the wind which they could not flee. And in the fields along the roadTo Withernsea,126. midst ok all was a cold white face 1 26 THE ? TEARS • AT • THE • SPRING Swart crows sat huddled on the ground Disconsolately,While overhead the seamews wheeled, andskirled In glee ;But the black cows stood, and cropped wherethey stood. And never heeded thee,O dark pale man, with the weary eyes, On the road to Withernsea. H. H. ABBOTT 127 THE • TEARS • AT • THE • SPRING The Oxen CHRISTMAS EVE, and twelve of theclock. Now they are all on their knees,An elder said as we sat in a flockBy the embers in hearthside ease. We pictured the meek mild creatures where They dwelt in their strawy pen,Nor did it occur to one of us there To doubt they were kneeling then. So fair a fancy few believe In these years ! Yet, I someone said on Christmas Eve Come ; see the oxen kneel In the lonely barton by yonder coomb Our childhood used to know,I should go with him in the gloom. Hoping it might be so. THOMAS HARDY Cornell University L
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